Francoise and Dominique had
heard nothing; they had gently taken each other by the hand behind the
bench, so that nobody could see them, and it seemed so delightful that
they remained where they were, their eyes plunged into the depths of the
shadows.
What a warm and superb night it was! The village slumbered on both edges
of the white highway in infantile quietude. From time to time was heard
the crowing of some chanticleer aroused too soon. From the huge wood
near by came long breaths, which passed over the roofs like caresses.
The meadows, with their dark shadows, assumed a mysterious and dreamy
majesty, while all the springs, all the flowing waters which gurgled in
the darkness, seemed to be the cool and rhythmical respiration of the
sleeping country. Occasionally the ancient mill wheel, lost in a doze,
appeared to dream like those old watchdogs that bark while snoring; it
cracked; it talked to itself, rocked by the fall of the Morelle, the
surface of which gave forth the musical and continuous sound of an organ
pipe. Never had more profound peace descended upon a happier corner of
nature.
CHAPTER II
THE ATTACK ON THE MILL
A month later, on the day preceding that of Saint Louis, Rocreuse was
in a state of terror.
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